


Eyes on Fire

by arochilton



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Frederick Chilton goes out in public and scares children and that's the entirety of the fic, Post-Yakimono
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arochilton/pseuds/arochilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Frederick Chilton presents himself to the public world for the first time since the incident that cost him an eye and the flesh on his cheek. The subsequent reactions stir up an array of emotions inside him, the most prominent of which being pride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes on Fire

The familiar smell of linoleum mixes with the nose-crinkling stench of processed, packaged foods and hits Frederick Chilton’s nostrils the instant he steps into the store. For a moment, it doesn’t feel like he had recently been in the hospital for nearly two and a half months; instead, it is as if he is simply making his weekly rounds at a local produce store several miles from his house. However, he knows in himself that he could never forget the incident that has undeniably and clearly branded him a survivor. He is too damn proud of himself for overcoming what the doctors had apparently initially deemed a “10% chance of survival.”

Frederick is no stranger to survival rates. As a consultant on many cases for the FBI, he has heard of many a potential victim surviving a harrowed attack only to fall prey to those fated numbers and percentage signs. Furthermore, he had been informed after the fact that his chances of surviving the vivisection and the subsequent sewing-up job by the professional doctors were a staggering 70/30—not much to brag about, but still an opportunity. Frederick took that opportunity and placed it at the forefront of his mind and the minds of everyone he encountered by wielding his silver chromed cane: a medically unnecessary trophy announcing his survival to the world.

Even though the days when he required its services are long since gone, the cane taps the store tiles under his feet as he walks. Frederick relies on it just as he always has. The style of its design displays his wealth, and the presence of it allows him to walk through the world knowing that people are always pondering questions about him in their mind. Frederick prefers it that way; in order to fuel his own need for contentment, the attention of others must be trained on him.

It is the first time he has been out in public since he was released from the hospital. Frederick does not know what to expect from humanity. He knows what he looks like now; he has spent hours staring at his reflection in the mirror, tilting his head to various angles and running his fingers over where his skin is grazed in etches, dips, gashes, and grooves. His cheek’s crowning decoration, a deep red scar, paints his face into a sinister artwork. Frederick’s left eye, a hazy white-gray color with hardly a trace of a pupil, stares blankly at the sights around it, taking in no motion and no light. While his normal eye whirls about, examining and evaluating the images authored by the bright colors of the world, his blind eye remains unfocused and unseeing.

Perception has been the biggest problem thus far. Teaching himself how to walk and perform daily activities with only one working eye is more challenging than Frederick would ever care to admit. He has to carry himself in a different manner, ensuring that he rotates his head more profoundly to take in all the sights possible. His right eye is more sensitive now, but he can sense it getting tired and blurred as the days wear on. Frederick relishes in learning about his body’s limitations and expectations.

Now, however, Frederick Chilton is strolling through the section of vegetables in the store, cold air slapping his cheeks as if he is outside on a cold winter’s morning. He picks up a cauliflower in one hand, turning it over in his palm. Just then, Frederick is thrown off balance by the force of a small body knocking into his hips, throwing him off balance. The cauliflower is dropped into a purple sea of eggplants.

Frederick turns to see the source of the commotion, irritated by the interruption, looking down to see a young girl no more than four years old standing beneath him. She is out of breath, her blond ringlets sticking out to the sides. Frederick does not spare her a glare typical of his nature, but she is not looking at him; rather, her eyes are glued to the floor.

“I’m sorry!” she starts, slowly drawing her face upwards, lingering for an instant on Frederick’s brown coat. 

What happens then is in its own way remarkable.

As her eyes register Frederick’s face, gazing upon the torn flesh of his cheek and the abhorrent vacancy of his eye, the small girl’s own small features break into an expression of pure terror. She screams, a shrill voice that echoes in Frederick’s ears. She takes two steps back in her yellow sandals, mouth hanging open. Frederick stares at her with his one good eye, registering how her own eyes are widened in what can only be described as shock and terror.

If Frederick were a normal man, he would be apologizing, perhaps, or maybe comforting her. Instead, pride floods his chest, filling him to the brim as if he might burst at any second. He is _alive_ to evoke these emotions from others. Having no special desire to treat children like anything but the small humans they are, he does not even make an attempt to calm her.

An older woman, obviously the girl’s mother (this is made clear by the blond curls and big blue eyes she shares with her), steps up  behind her, clenching her hands softly on her daughter’s shoulders. Frederick knows instantly that she saw the girl crash into him, but she has not been paying enough attention to comprehend the reason for the noise that had come out of her daughter’s throat.

“Apologize,” the woman demands, looking down at the top of her daughter’s head. The woman is carrying a large lavender purse and wearing copious amounts of red lipstick, giving her the uncanny likeliness of a clown. When her daughter’s mouth stays clamped shut, the mother follows the trail of her eyesight to Frederick’s face. The mother lets a quick gasp escape her mouth, clapping her hand over her lips the second she realizes she has done so.

There is nothing but silence in the air for several moments. A couple of passing shoppers are peering at the scene as they pass. Frederick says nothing, his one eye alternating vision between the woman and the girl. The girl seems to be stuck between two desires: on one hand, she wants to continue staring at Frederick’s face and attempt to understand it; on the other, he is scaring her more with each passing second.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman finally says. “Don’t take it personally. We—I mean, she—spooks easily. I’m sure you get this a lot.”

“First time, actually,” Frederick replies. A smirk stings his cheek. He makes no further explanation.

“Oh,” the woman remains at a loss for words. She must be able to feel her daughter’s body shaking beneath her, because she is looking for the words to end the conversation. “Well, again, I’m very sorry. I hope you have a nice day.”

Frederick dips his head at them as they leave. It is the most socially polite gesture he is able to manage in this situation.

If Frederick feels any emotion other than pride, albeit slightly, it is a small tug of remorse. He can pinpoint the source quickly, however: it is with a tiny twinge of regret that he accepts this fear, respect, and attention from others at the sake of his appearance only rather than Frederick himself.

As the psychiatrist continues his trek throughout the store, several passersby give him double takes, but he is able to avoid person-to-person interaction. He pays at a self-service checkout.

Even before the incident, Frederick was a capable man. It is something required of him due to the fact that he lives alone and has for the majority of his life.

The pride in Frederick’s emotions does not subside. He does not dwell on the fear he caused the girl and her mother but on the fact that he is a visible survivor. He lets his mind wander to how Hannibal Lecter will react the first time he lays eyes on Frederick’s new, altered appearance. Granted, being the man indirectly responsible, he will probably be rather amused; however, Frederick relies on the possibility that he is just terrifying enough to make the cannibal’s mouth twitch in appreciation of that fact.


End file.
